Still Life
by herzeleidx
Summary: She's just a moment, trapped in a simple frame. He's still being painted. [ RikuKairiRoxas ]


The party is too classy for me, but oh, don't you love it? You yearn for this kind of sophisticated environment because it gives you your chance to show off your brilliance. This is the atmosphere where you glow brightest. With the low, polite laughter, small glasses of wine and champagne, and the quiet music you feel comfortable. Because this is want you want to be, how you want to act. But baby girl, didn't they tell you? You'll ruin yourself this way, everything's too good to be true. It'll all end one day, these "important" people and these silken clothes don't last forever.

Everything's got a way of fading.

You met a guy with the perfect blonde hair and the glimmering blue eyes and the pearl teeth. And he's striking up one of those casual conversations you lovely ladies and gentlemen call a splendid talk. For a minor passerby it may look innocent but, ah my dear, you underestimate me. He caught you while you were going to get us a drink and merely tapped your arm, complimented your dress and then brought up some sort of artist to catch your attention. You send a look my way, but you don't have to pretend. He's winning you over and my, my, there's nothing you can do about it. You're so vulnerable and naïve and haven't a clue that just like everyone else, he'll fade too.

I'm standing by the window, the moon pouring light into the dimly lit room. I don't acknowledge your glance and instead, turn my head away and cross my arms. I'm not interested, you know I'm not. But I'll support you with anything and everything you take pleasure in. Because unlike these poor excuses for humans, with their expensive clothes and overdone faces, I'm not disappearing anytime soon. Girl, I've got spunk and you're going to miss out because I'm not sticking around for the toast. You're laughing now, lightly placing your hand on his upper arm and leaning forward, like he had just said the funniest thing you'd ever heard. It's making me nauseous and I've got to get out because I think my colors starting to turn gray.

I run my fingertips lightly down the cool glass window and narrow my eyes at the reflection of you two. Oh, I could just saunter over there and whisk you away because you're supposed to be here with me. But I don't, because just like they don't have the time to think about people like me, I don't have the time to stress myself over people like you. So I'll stand by and watch you spill your guts out to a man you don't even know. He's slicing open your heart, isn't he? With his stunning looks, charming smile, and that mock-flattery he's cutting you with just makes you want to fall to the floor and bleed for him doesn't it?

Isn't it just so intricate? How for someone like you, (intelligent, _cunning_, **creative**) to not be able to see this façade of terribly colored characters and how dull they actually are, is extremely odd. Maybe, you are just like them, colorless and unreal. I'm starting to guess that you aren't all I pictured you to be. You're no photograph filled with vibrant shades, just an old black and white one with tearing edges and blurred focus. It's a little disappointing, yes, but I'm glad I won't fit into your frame of memories. It means I've got a better chance of living.

Oh no doll, you can stay in your little photograph. I prefer paintings, where I'm able to flourish and grow. You're captured that way, I'm sketched a little different. But I can't blame this all on you, I'm unfinished and still in progress, meaning I'll still create mistakes. So I guess that makes you perfect, but let me explain, perfection only goes so far. You've got to have more wit to survive in this harsh world and I don't think you're going to be able to take it. I'll leave you here, with your prince charming and wonderfully (yet sickeningly) decorated room full of over-compensated individuals. In here, there's no doubt, you'll make it.

But the world's a drastically different place outside of this falsified egotist filled room.

I'm through with this party and though I'm leaving from this crucial gathering of overrated public, I'll give you one last parting line. In the words of John Greenleaf Whittier, _"For all the sad words of tongue or pen, the saddest are these: It might have been."_ And yes, maybe I could coax you out of this unrealistic place and show you true life but I don't think you're worth the effort on my part because you've been lying all along. I almost find it impossible that I didn't notice before but perhaps I was stunned by your seemingly significant beauty that it took me a bit longer to realize your actual nature. I applaud you for being able to conceal yourself for so long; it's a shame your terrific acting skills are going to waste for something so outlandish.

But it's no longer my concern, for I'm done with you. Alas, my dear, I'll be dispersing now. Maybe you'll come after me, maybe you won't. I suppose it all depends on whether you're able to muster up enough courage to sew up your heart and step out of your fairytale to paint me a picture of it. I'm a little too vivid and too original for your taste, eh? It's amusing how you convince yourself that talking about important artists and over-priced merchandise makes you unique. Guess we all can't be different, because that means we'd all be the same. I'm one of the luckier ones, I'll manage without you and your fancy establishments. I like being the one to leave without warning, it gives a bit more of a dramatic effect don't you agree?

Don't fret, I'll see myself out and withhold against the bow. Though I'd like to add your picture to my photo album, you'd make a nice addition to my collection.

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A/N: I happen to like this. Eh. Review plz?


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